Survival of the Fittest
by Casmoiraitiel
Summary: The boys investigate a string of mysterious deaths in the small town of Casper Mountain, Wyoming.  hurt/Sam comfort/Dean.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: The boys investigate a string of strange deaths in the small town of Casper Mountain, Wyoming.**

**_This is my first attempt at a fanfic piece. Please let me know what you think. More chapters to be posted._**

******Disclaimer: I do not stake my claim on Supernatural or the characters therein, though I do enjoy workin' my magic all over the page.**

"Freakin' starving," Dean complained, sliding into the booth at the diner just on the outskirts of town. He picked up the menu, ignoring the exasperated stare from his brother.

Sam took the seat across from him, spreading open the newspaper he'd picked up at the door.

"Well?" he asked, looking around for the nearest waitress.

"Well, Bobby was right," Sam answered. "Latest murder in a series of three. Local grocer, 35, lived alone. Killed two days ago. Investigators have no leads."

"Is that all?"

"Yeah. No detail," Sam looked up, offering the red-haired waitress a smile as she made her way over to the table. "Just a salad, please"

"I'll have the bacon cheeseburger," Dean added, further ignoring the smirk from the other side of the table as he watched the shapely waitress wander away.

"You'll end up in the paper next," Sam taunted, looking down at the print. _"'FBI's most wanted, Dean Winchester, brought down by an army of angry cows.'_"

"If I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die happy, Sammy." He grinned roguishly, picking up the paper himself, his eyes scanning over the print. "That's weird. Guess we're gonna have to do some good ol' detective work, huh?"

"Looks like." He glanced around the dining room, noting the furtive glances that passed their way from the locals who gathered at the counters and the tables near by. When they caught his eyes, they turned quickly away, leaning in to whisper amongst themselves. "Small towns, man."

"What?" Dean laid the newspaper down, grinning widely in appreciation as his plate was settled in front of him.

"Ya'll need anything else?" the waitress asked, a flirtatious smile touching her own lips as she looked down at the oldest brother.

"No thank you,…Amber," Dean replied, reading her name tag. He chuckled as she walked away, shaking his head as he picked up the sandwich from his plate. "Smells…fantastic." He took a large bite, settling happily in his seat as he chewed, savoring each morsel.

Sam continued to glance around the room, trying to listen for bits of the whispered conversation, feeling a bit uneasy as he absently drew the fork to his mouth. Despite his efforts, the locals seemed more than content to keep their voices lowered, only occasionally glancing back now, aware that he was watching them as well.

"Dude," Dean mumbled around a mouthful of beef. "What the hell are you staring at?"

Sam leaned forward, glancing over Dean's shoulder. "This place is weird. They're watching us."

"Maybe they're making fun of your girlie salad," Dean quipped, licking his fingers. "Or maybe we're just too good-looking."

"C'mon, man. Be serious." Sam raised another bite to his lips and paused, his eyes finding a pale figure seated in the far corner of the room. "What the…" He blinked, just to find hat it had vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"What?"

Sam dropped the fork to his plate and grabbed the newspaper, shaking it out to view he article again. After a long moment, Dean reached forward, pushing the paper down to look at his brother.

"You okay there, Sammy?"

He turned the article toward his brother, pointing at the picture. "This guy…was sitting in the far corner of the room. Staring at us."

"That guy's dead, Sam," Dean stated matter-of-factly, turning to glance behind his shoulder.

"I know that," Sam answered irritably. "I blinked and he was gone."

Dean took another noisy bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully. "So…what? Is he like, reaching out from the grave or whatever?"

"Wouldn't be the first time." Sam ran his hand absently through his hair, settling to scratch the back of his head. "Maybe we should visit the morgue?"

"Now?" Dean asked, finishing off his dinner with a somewhat queasy look on his face. Dealing with dead bodies just after dinner wasn't exactly his idea of spending an evening. He sighed, seeing yet another incredulous look cross the younger Winchester's face. "Alright, alright. Let's go." He tossed a few loose bills on the table and nodded to the waitress as she moved to clean up behind them.

The bell on the door of the diner jingled somewhat perkily as the door swung shut at their backs and they climbed into the Impala, heading to the nearest motel to check in and change.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: The investigation continues, leading the boys to the morgue and sheriff's department to seek information.**

_**Please note, this chapter is a bit graphic.**_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, I just enjoy making the characters dance. :)**

The brothers pushed open the doors of the morgue, making their way to the reception desk just inside. An older lady looked up at them, offering them a smile.

"How may I help you boys today?" she asked, looking over their suits.

Dean smiled, fishing in his pocket for his badge, holding it open to her. "I'm Agent Wilde, this is Agent Smith. FBI." They closed their badges, sliding them back into their pockets before he continued. "We're here about Aaron Saint, the uh…grocer who died here a couple of days ago."

"Oh," she responded, "weirdest thing. Two more just like it this week, too." She motioned for them to follow her, leading them down a long hallway and pushing open the double doors at the end. "The officers say that there was no sign of break-in…and I don't know of anything that can do…well, I'll let the doctor tell you." She opened the furthest door and ushered them inside. "Dr. Gordon, these officers are here about Mr. Saint."

He gestured them further into the room, fixing his small framed glasses to his face. Dr. Gordon was a tall, large man with a full head of silver hair. His height alone made him look intimidating.

"Officers Wilde and Smith," Dean offered, stepping further into the room.

"'Bout time the Feds got wind of this," he answered, reaching for a chart. "Never seen anything like these…bodies over the last week."

"What's so odd about them, doctor?" Sam asked, taking the clipboard the doctor held out to him. Silently, he read over the autopsy report as the hefty man moved to pull out the slab holding the latest body.

"Hope you boys didn't just eat," he chuckled, pulling the sheet back from the corpse. It appeared to have shrunken in on itself, the eyes seeming to bulge beneath the closed eyelids.

The brothers quietly moved to either side of the metal slab, looking down at what had been Aaron Saint.

"I made the incision and his insides oozed outside…completely liquidized. All his major organs." Dr. Gordon adjusted his glasses before sliding on a latex glove and opening the mouth. "Severe corrosion and lots of bloody pulp in here, just like he downed a jug of pipe cleaner. His clothes were covered in bloody vomit."

"Any idea what could have caused this?" Sam asked, peering into the gaping mouth himself.

"Nothing I've ever seen," the doctor confessed, looking at the younger man. "The other bodies were the same way."

Quelling his clenching stomach, Dean squatted, peering closely at the side of the dead man's head. "Hey, doc. His brain…?"

"Yeah, same deal. I don't know…it's like that cut signaled a melt down. Came pouring out of his ears and nose."

"Yeah, that's…that's just gross." Dean stood, taking a step back.

"Any weird smells…discolorations?" Sam queried as the doctor removed the glove, recovering the body. "Markings?"

"No, not that I notic…wait." He used the sheet as a glove, slightly shifting the body. "There, at the base of his spine."

Dean's eyes easily found the quarter-sized black mark on the back of the victim. The skin was burnt, as if it had been cauterized. "These on all the victims?"

"Yeah, same spot." He clicked the door closed, taking the chart back from Sam. "Any ideas, boys?"

"None yet," Sam answered grimly. Whatever it was, it was nothing like anything they'd ever came across before. He exchanged a heavy glance with his brother before they stepped back, nodding their thanks. "Thank you, Dr. Gordon."

They quickly exited the building, gratefully inhaling the fresh air outside as they strode along the sidewalk. "Any ideas?"

"No, Dean," Sam waved at the car that paused for them to cross the road. "Not any good ones, at least. What kind of…thing…can turn its victims into a human slurpee?"

"That's just gross, Sam," Dean replied, silencing a gag.

"We can put a call in to Bobby when we get back to the motel."

**-8675309-**

"Yeah, thanks, Bobby," Dean finished, tossing the cell phone on the nearest bed, plopping down unceremoniously beside it. "Tell me ya got something, genius. Bobby's stumped."

"There's no record online of anything like it, but," he turned the laptop toward his brother, "about a century ago, this same area had a string of unexplained deaths."

"What caused them?"

"Dunno," Sam said, turning the screen back, pulling up another minimized screen. "It's not an actual report; it reads more like a bedtime story parents tell their children to scare the shit out of them."

"How many deaths we talkin' here, Sam? Three? Four?"

"Try the entire village," he answered, "minus one. A girl…Georgaina Fulbright. Says she walked to the next town and had enough in her to tell her story to the man who found her laying in the streets before she died. By the time the bodies were found, there was basically nothing left."

"Basically?" the older brother repeated.

"Only the skulls were left. They were collected and buried in an old cemetery outside of town…mass grave style." He looked up at his brother, clearly confused. "The stories say that the skulls were found only a few days after the girl died, Dean. I mean, there've been bodies dipped in acid that didn't dissolve that fast."

"Again, Sam. Ew."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Look, all I'm sayin' is that whatever this is…it's eating whole human bodies. Probably from the inside out. Like…a super acid. Dr. Gordon cutting into these victims…probably the only thing that's kept their bodies somewhat intact."

The older Winchester found his way off the bed, looking toward the door of the motel. "Ya know, sometimes I miss the days where we were just…fighting demons and ending the Apocalypse." He swaggered around the room, making a show of rummaging through the duffel. "Evil had a name. Sometimes. Whatever." He looked back at his brother. "Now…now we're freakin' dealin' with things that don't even have a name." Agitated, he tossed the duffel back down into the chair. "Damned ear herpes." Fresh with the memory, he stuck his finger in his ear.

"Well, yeah, Dean…we know it came from Eve," Sam stated, closing the lid to his computer. "But it's not new. It…ate…this village before."

"Speaking of which…ya hungry?" Dean asked, inching toward the door.

"Seriously?" Sam pulled his suit jacket back on. "After we talk to the cops, maybe?"

"Okay, then," Dean grinned, checking his own pocket to make sure the ID was still there before following his much taller brother out the door.

**-8675309-**

The Sheriff's Department was only a short walk from the Traveler's Rest Motel, the residents and tourists seeming to give them a wide berth as they paced quickly along the sidewalk leading through town. Sam held the door for his brother, letting them in to the cool air of the station. The secretary looked up as they entered, moving to stand behind the large, high oak counter that covered most of the small lobby.

She was stocky, her long sable hair tied in a braid down her back, her eyes seeming to admit that she was a bit shy. Her voice was soft when she spoke, seeming to indicate the same. "Good afternoon," she greeted.

"Agents Wilde and Smith," Dean said by way of introduction, flashing her his badge as Sam did the same beside him. "Here about the three deaths this week. Is there any way we could speak to the officers who found the bodies?"

"Oh," she murmured, "there's not that many officers here. The sheriff…he could help you."

"Thank you, Rosalyn," he replied, his eyes glancing over the nameplate on the counter. He took a step back, exhaling slightly as the woman moved to a closed door, knocking softly before sticking her head inside. A few moments later, she stepped back, gesturing for them to pass. Dean smiled, nodding to her as they made their way into the Sheriff's office.

The Sheriff was middle aged and slightly balding, laugh lines around his eyes. He seemed very charismatic, reaching out to shake their hands as they stepped into his office. They took the chairs in front of the desk, introducing themselves as he motioned that they should sit.

"Sheriff Williams. What can I do for you gentlemen today?" he questioned, leaning back in his desk chair. "We don't get you fellas up here often."

"I'd hope not," Dean offered, adjusting his tie. "We're looking for information about the deaths in town this week. Most recently a Mr. Aaron Saint."

"Oh, dear," the officer sighed, shaking his head, "I'd hope this wouldn't get all the way up to you guys." He clenched his hands together, leaning forward against the desk. "We have no idea what's going on." The admission seemed very hard on him.

"Any connection between the victims?" Sam asked.

"This is a small town, Agent. The locals all know everyone around here. Especially Aaron. He was a real loner, ya know, but he owned the local grocery store. It was his life's work. Steven, the first victim, was a trail guide and Emily, the second victim, was a waitress at the Mountain Diner. Rosalyn will have copies of the reports for you when you leave."

"Has there been any odd behavior in town lately?"

"Son," the sheriff chuckled sadly, "we get thousands of tourists through here for that damned mountain. There's always odd behavior." He sat back again, crossing his legs in front of him. "But no, nothing that I've noticed. You're welcome to the crime scenes. Addresses are in the files."

"Thank you, sheriff." They stood, making to move toward the door.

"Look, if you can keep this quiet around town…" he trailed off, glancing at his secretary through the window. "I don't wanna raise panic, ya know."

"We understand, sir," Dean answered. "Believe me, that's the last thing we want."

"Let me know when you find something…and I'll do the same." He escorted them out the door. "Rosalyn, dear, would you mind getting these gentlemen a copy of the three files from this week?"

She nodded, escaping to the privacy of the filing cabinets as the sheriff closed himself back in his office, pulling his own files out in front of him.

"Serious lack of personnel," Dean retorted, uncomfortably adjusting the fit of his jacket as he glanced around the office.

"Like I said, Dean,…small towns." He smiled at Rosalyn and thanked her as she handed them the copied reports, flipping through them as they headed out the door. "Doors…all locked from the inside…Neighbors heard screaming…Oh, man. Photos." He handed his brother the pictures of the crime scenes, shaking his head. "Where do you wanna start?"

**TBC...**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: A visit of Mr. Saint's house puts the boys one step closer to knowing what they're facing. Dean does a little dance. :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, I just like putting words in the characters' mouths.**

Evening seemed to come early, casting the brothers far too quickly into their twilight hunt. An invisible predator during the day seemed much more daunting at night. They circled around the house of the last victim, the beams from their flashlights scouring the ground as they climbed up onto the wrap around porch, looking for anything out of place.

Sam paced by the windows, looking at the frames, running his fingers over the wood. There was no tell-tale sign of sulphur, no signs of forced entry at all. Sighing, he tried the front door, surprised when it swing wide open.

They ducked under the crime scene tape , moving slowly into the den where Aaron had obviously died.

"That's foul," Dean groaned, catching a smell of the coagulated mess covering a large portion of the carpet and furniture. He reached over, flipping on the light, leaving his flashlight on the table by the door. "Just for once, it'd be nice to get a job that didn't smell like crap."

"Definitely," Sam agreed, moving into the den as his brother moved toward the kitchen. Breathing shallowly through his mouth, he squatted down beside the bulk of the mess, angling his beam down to closer examine it, his head slightly cocked to the side as it always did when he was studying something.

The indistinct noises of Dean's search did little to break his concentration as his eyes narrowed, finding something off about the putrid, congealed mess on the carpet. "Hey, Dean!" he called, glancing around the living room, his eyes settling on the fireplace and the poker propped against the stonework.

The older Winchester looked around the corner to where Sam stood, his eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Find something?"

"Yeah, I think so." He gestured his brother over, once again squinting down at the mess on the floor.

Grimacing, Dean made his way over, forcing himself to lean close to the vomited mess. "What is it? I mean…besides disgusting?" He glanced over. "No, c'mon, Sam. What are you gonna do? Poke around in it with that thing?"

"It's _moving_," he countered.

"Dude, how close did you freakin' get?" He forced himself to look closer, finally admitting that he, too, could see the almost imperceptible shifting that Sam had noticed. "Is it…breathing?"

"That's what it looks like."

He stood back, his disgust written plainly on his rugged face. "That just adds a whole new level to creepy." Moving a step back, he crossed his arms stoically across his chest, staring down at the carpet. "Well, go on."

The younger man adjusted his grip on the iron poker, squaring his jaw in determination before he plunged the make-shift tool into the midst of the bloody pulp. An immediate cacophony of high-pitched shrieks filled the room and several small, dark shapes separated from the gore, moving quickly across the floor. Reflexively, Sam stabbed the iron rod forward, managing to impale one of the fleeing things on the sharp point before it got away.

Recoiling, Dean shook his pant legs, trying to watch where the shrieking blobs went. It was quiet for a long moment before he looked up, catching Sam's gaze. The younger brother simply stood there, slightly amused, watching Dean attempt to compose himself.

"Ya done?" Sam asked, a slight smirk touching his lips.

Dean awkwardly cleared his throat and adjusted his jacket, slightly raising a brow as he took a final sweep across the floor. "Yeah." He cleared his throat again. "So, uh, what the hell is that thing?"

"I dunno," Sam replied absently, wandering over to the dining room table. He grabbed one of the placemats, shaking the dead thing he had captured onto the off-white surface. "Can you find me…a knife or something?"

Dean returned to the kitchen, searching through drawers until he found the silverware, returning to stand by Sam's shoulder as he handed the knife down to his brother. "Uggh, the hell?"

"Looks like a parasite of some sort. Wanna call Bobby?"

"Good thinkin'." He reached in his pocket for his cell phone, hitting the speed dial. "_Hey, Bobby."_

"_Dean? Find anything? Still got nothin' here."_

"Bobby, I have no idea what the hell we're lookin' at here. Sam managed to kill one."

"_One?"_

Dean bent closer to the specimen Sam was beginning to dissect on the table. "It's small, Bobby. Looks like a parasite of some sort. Digs its way into somebody and turns them to freakin' mush, man." He paused, looking around the floors again in paranoia. "Found five or so here at the last vic's house."

"Bobby," Sam cut in, gesturing for Dean to hand him the phone. He cradled it against his shoulder and laid the knife on the table. "I think this same thing happened here before, like a hundred years ago."

"_That's somethin' to go on,_" came the reply amidst the sound of shuffling papers. _"I'll have a look, see what I can dig up."_

"Thanks, Bobby."

"_You boys be careful."_ The phone call ended with the gruff reminder, leaving the two of them to stare down at the table.

The dead specimen appeared to be about the size of a fist. Further inspection revealed that the mouth of the creature appeared to be coin-shaped and full of small, sharp teeth. The dark, murky color the parasite had been faded as it bled onto the table, leaving it almost translucent.

Sam dropped the knife back on the table again, looking back at his brother. "You realize…that when these things are hungry…they're practically invisible?"

Dean widened his stance, throwing his hands up in a helpless gesture. "How the hell do we fight these things?"

Sam chewed the inside of his bottom lip, his mind racing.

"There were five here…How many more do ya think there are?" he asked gruffly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Dunno," the younger hunter replied absently, his eyes narrowing as he focused in on his brother. "Let's get outta here."

"Oh, hell yes."

**TBC...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: The boys discover what they're dealing with. _Shorter chapter._**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or it's characters, but I do own the monster!**

Dean kicked the door shut behind him, sauntering into the room with his take-out bag in hand as he moved over to the table where Sam sat. With the bag and drinks on the table, he shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it on the bed. He took the seat opposite of Sam, digging through the bag to separate their dinner.

Sam quietly accepted the wrapped burger that was passed to him, hardly hearing the mention of needing red meat as his eyes continued to scan the text on the screen of his laptop.

"What is it?" Dean asked, nosily unwrapping his own greasy burger, propping his elbows on the table.

His brow furrowed, he looked over at the older Winchester, gesturing toward the screen. "Survival of the fittest."

"Wha' d'ya mean?" came the question, muffled around a large chunk of sandwich. He chewed a bit and swallowed, the effort looking like a great deal of work. "Like 'Animal Planet' or something?"

"Bobby called back while you were out. Seems our little _friend_ is listed in Eve's book of horrors, to some degree." He unwrapped his own sandwich and took an appreciative bite before continuing, wiping at the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. "Loosely translated, its name means 'the destroyer.'"

"And?"

"And…besides stabbing them, the only way to kill them is by fire."

"Them?" Dean looked down at his burger, feeling a bit queasy. "Exactly what do you mean by 'them'?"

"Them…being like a colony. A cannibalistic colony. Turns out the only way they can reproduce is by…consuming human blood. The slurpee effect is the acid that coats the outside of their bodies. Gets into the bloodstream and the rest is history."

Attempting to ignore the images that had popped into his mind, Dean laid his unfinished burger on the table and sat back in his chair. "What's to keep these things from populating the planet, huh? You can't see the feakin' things."

"One…reproduces. It only shows up again when it needs food…See, these things eat each other. It's science…sort of. Sick, twisted science. This thing is the last one of its kind…it comes to find a host to, uh, eat, leaves some of itself to grow…the rest is history. Once the new ones have fed, they slither back to whatever hole they're living in and disappear for a while…until there are none of them left."

"Only one of these things is makin' babies?" Dean repeated, his brow furrowed.

"The Alpha," Sam answered, nodding. "The last one standing."

"Great. So we're dealin' with herpes that think they're Hannibal." He sighed in frustration, reaching forward for his burger again and taking a hearty bite. "We gotta torch these things?"

Sam nodded.

"Where the hell are they?"

"Some place dark, damp, and warm."

Dean finished off the last of his sandwich, tossing the crumpled wrapper aside. "And what about the next poor bastard this thing gets, huh? Anyway to kill it before it turns their insides to jello?"

"Bobby's workin' on it, Dean. He's still translating." No longer hungry, he dropped the rest of his food back in the take-out bag, lounging back in his chair. "I don't like it any more than you do, man,…but right now, it's all we've got."

**TBC...**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks for those of you who have been reviewing. A bit of a longer chapter with this one. Another death and Bobby calls Sam with some not-so-good news. Dean and Sam risk blowing their cover.**

_**Reviews help me know if ya'll are enjoying this as much as I'm enjoying writing it. I appreciate hearing from each of you. :)**_

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Supernatural, but goodness knows I'd love to.**

Dean slammed the trunk of the Impala, shouldering his duffel bag carrying the make-shift flamethrowers inside. He stepped back, tossing a flashlight to his brother who stood at the curb. They had planned on searching some of the older sections of the town, hoping that they might accidentally stumble across a nest.

Sam tried his flashlight, directing the beam toward the bushes along the roadside. The town was quiet; no traffic passed through the streets giving them pretty much an undisturbed hunt.

They made their way through the bramble and undergrowth, careful to check their steps as they advanced toward an old reservoir. The ground was swampy and wet, seeping up over their shoes as they trudged closer to the crumbling brick work. Algae and moss clung to the old, wet stones as the dripping water echoed forlornly, dripping into the shallow pool below.

Carefully, the younger Winchester leaned over the side, shining his light into the basin below, waiting for their prey to dart away from his light. Nothing moved, however, save for a few rats, scurrying into the drainage pipes around the reservoir as they were startled by the intruders.

Sighing, Sam turned back to his brother, shrugging. "Doesn't look like they're here."

Dean turned back to him, turning his attention away from the wooded area around them. "Ya know, I was thinkin'."

"'Bout what?" Sam asked, stifling his urge to make a smart retort to his brother. The effort was visible in the smirk he was failing to suppress.

"Hey, it happens!" Dean defended, the expression not going unnoticed.

"So, what's on your mind?"

He adjusted the duffel, the mud squelching around his shoes as he turned, motioning for Sam to walk with him back toward the car. "The first vic was a trail guide, right?" He waited for Sam's grunt of agreement before continuing. "I'm thinkin' this think hitchhiked in from the mountain. Takes a little while to feel the effects…the guy was probably just feeling a little weak by the time he got his group back here."

"That does make sense," Sam agreed.

"More than just a pretty face," came the retort, the older brother clearly proud of himself.

Sam snorted, shaking his head, using the edge of the sidewalk to scrape his shoes off before they reached the Impala, Dean doing the same nearby.

Dean strode across the road, hauling open the trunk and placing the duffel inside. His cell rang only moments after the trunk had slammed shut. Sam watched from the passenger side of the car as Dean dug in his jacket pocket, checking the number before answering the call.

"Yeah?" he managed, his eyes locking on his brother's as he listened. "Yeah, we'll be right there. Thanks, sheriff."

They slid into the front seat, Dean firing the car to life and pulling out into the empty road, heading north out of town.

"What was that about?" Sam questioned, propping his elbow against the door and settling more comfortably into his seat.

"Another body."

They lapsed into silence as Dean navigated down a dirt road only a mile from the town. The farmhouse was a half mile in, up a steep hill that curved sharply to the left and opened up into a large, flat expanse. The house was large, taking up most of the space, the front lawn now hosting two local police cruisers and an ambulance.

The brothers climbed out of the car, their doors closing only seconds apart, and made their way toward the house. The sheriff strode out the front door as he heard their steps on the porch outside, removing his hat and shaking his head in befuddlement.

"Boys," he said, his hands held wide in a helpless gesture. "I'm out of ideas here. This is the forth victim in the last two weeks. Please, tell me you've found something. Please."

The two younger men exchanged heavy glances before looking back to the exhausted man in front of them. Dean motioned for him to follow, leading him back toward the quiet of the driveway as the other officers worked inside the house.

"Where's your suits?" he queried, wiping his sweat-coated brow with his handkerchief before tucking it back into his hip pocket.

"We weren't expecting a call," the eldest improvised, leaning against the side of his beloved car as he crossed his arms casually over his chest. "Truth is, sir, this is something you and your men are not equipped to handle."

"And you are?" he shot back, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Ya'll aren't FBI agents, are you?"

"We're not sayin' that," Dean responded, forcing himself to remain casual, "but yes, we are better equipped to handle it than you are. You didn't wanna raise panic and I don't wanna raise it either, but the truth is, we're dealing with deadly hunters. Only they're not people."

"What…what are they? They? More than one?" The sheriff's nervousness was apparent. He reached for his handkerchief again, this time blotting all along his face.

"It's not human," Sam finally offered, "but we know how to stop it. We just need a little time."

His eyes shifted to each brother, the suspiciousness still evident as he looked them over. Fear, however, seemed to dominate and he pushed his unease aside, finally nodding once to show he understood.

"What about here?" came the question as they stared back at the house. The gurney was just being rolled out the front door.

"Maddox, one of my deputies. Was retiring next month. I put him on sick leave yesterday." He ran his hand raggedly through his thinning hair as the ambulance doors slammed shut. "His wife called it in about half an hour ago."

"You should have her taken in for observation." Sam turned grimly, facing away from the old home. The feeling of panic seemed to be seeping over the yard. "She doesn't need to be here right now." He started as his phone sounded in his pocket. "Excuse me." He stepped away from the two men, taking a few paces away from the car. "Yeah, Bobby?"

"_Sam, it's not good," _came the heavy response, followed by the shuffling of more papers.

"Tell me you've got something we can use."

"_Like I said, son, it's not good. From what I've managed to translate so far…says you need to use belladonna to cleanse the infected victim…Even then, you're lookin' at damage for the rest of their God-given days."_

"Belladonna? That's deadly, Bobby."

"_Yeah, well, it's the only thing we got. The only thing they've mentioned so far that works on these sonsabitches. Very small window for success, too."_

"Kill and be killed." Sam sighed, glancing back to his brother.

"_Look, I don't need to tell you boys again to be careful. This is a whole new level of deadly, and I ain't lookin' to bury either of you any time soon."_

"Yeah, Bobby. We'll be careful." He started back to the car. "Thanks." Silently, he slid the phone back into his pocket, offering the older Winchester another meaningful stare, resting his hands on his hips.

"Listen, sheriff, it's probably best you clear your men out as soon as possible," Dean stated, taking the cue from his brother.

"Ya'll got a lead?"

"You'll know as soon as we do."

Reluctantly, the sheriff walked away, heading back into the house to speed his men along long after the ambulance had left. A few long moments later, a woman came walking rigidly through the door, staring blankly in front of her as a deputy led her to one of the patrol cars and seated her inside.

"So?" Dean asked, feeling the question didn't need much prompting. His eyes never left the scene in front of him, watching the officers scurry about under the instructions from their superior as he handed out orders, attempting to get his men out of the house as quickly as possible.

"Bobby says that there's a small chance to save the ones who are attacked," he sighed, leaning heavily against the car. "Belladonna."

"He's supposed to be lookin' for a cure, not pickin' up hookers at a titty bar," Dean retorted sarcastically.

"Belladonna, Dean. Nightshade plant. It's a poison…and apparently the only way to get it out of somebody before it kills them."

"What are the chances of that?" he asked, moving to the trunk as the police cruisers began pulling away, the sheriff raising his hand in parting as he slid into his own car.

"With the damage these things do….slim to none." He took the bag Dean handed him, pulling it open grab his own torch.

"That's comforting," came the gruff response followed by a heavy sigh as he closed the trunk. They made their way up to the porch. "Even if the poison works,…it's still poison."

They pushed through the front door, greeted immediately by the fresh blood inside. "Still, there's a chance of surviving the poison…This…there's no hope for."

A noise of what sounded like agreement sounded from the older Winchester before he took a step in, closing the front door behind him. Most of the blood, it seemed, was contained to the dining room which thankfully had unvarnished hardwood flooring. It was easy to see where the body had landed, the outline still clear through the mess seemed to be inching together.

"A good ol' fashioned demon ass kicking…I could handle," Dean complained, tossing the empty duffel onto a nearby chair as he leveled his torch at the largest concentration of gore on this floor. "This just outright blows."

"Ready," Sam murmured, readying his own weapon in case his brother missed.

The flame shot outward from the nozzle, directly covering the pool of blood. Instantly, the shrieking filled the room again, alerting to them that their assumption had been right and they'd found the new spawns. It was over in only seconds, the pained cries fading into silence as Dean let up on the hammer, the flames ceasing.

The floor was singed and the blood had blackened under the flame, crisping with the heat. The four parasites that had been feeding lay curled in the midst, cooked through. Heavily, Dean's torch found the floor as he took a few paces toward his target.

"That's it, huh?"

Sam moved closer, looking over at his companion. "Yeah, that's it," he echoed distantly. "That and keeping one from getting us when we find the nest."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sam and Dean go on a hike, fix the problem, and head back to Bobby's. A bit of a longer chapter. To this point, this has read more like an episode rather than a drama-fest. There will be drama-fests in the future. So now, I'm throwing in a bit of the hurt and tears I know you all love. Thanks to Xenascully for her continued support. Reviews are welcome (to the positive or negative).**

_**Category change. Family/angst/hurt/comfort.**_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, and I have no quirky comments today as to why I should.**

"There's not even a Health and Wellness store here," Sam observed as they stood in the middle of the quiet town, still well before dawn. His hands were planted firmly on his hips as he spun slowly, taking in what was around them. "Still wanna go after these things tonight?"

"The sooner we get out of here, the better," came the response as Dean slid into the drivers seat again. "We'll just have to be careful."

Sam reluctantly took his place beside his brother, lapsing into silence as the old car fired to life, cruising easily down the main road toward the mountain. The pull off to the trails was only a half mile out of town, and Dean swung the Impala into the vacant lot, parking near the stairs that let up to the meeting ramp where the trail guides met their groups.

Once more, they geared up. Sam slid his pistol securely against his back, holding it firmly in place with the waistband of his jeans. Dean did the same beside him, not wanting to be in a strange place with only the protection of the home-made flamethrowers. The closing of the trunk seemed to echo around the mountain forebodingly.

"Alright, Sasquatch, let's go!"

They tromped up the ten stairs that expanded onto an ample landing, covered by a pavilion. Inside the cover of the roof, they found maps of the trails. Sam spread one out along a banister, his flashlight tracing the groups of trails that branched off from where they stood.

It only took a few moments to discern the best path down to the large cave near the bottom of the mountain, at Spirit Valley. The blurbs on the map proclaimed it to be a mystical haven for those seeking enlightenment and the tranquility Casper Mountain had to offer.

Sam took off down one of the trails nearest him with Dean in tow, his flashlight bobbing in front of him as he strode along the well-trodden pathway, paying attention to any obstacle that might fall in front of them. Both brothers were continually scanning around them for signs of more of the parasites, which Dean had taken to calling 'shales' because of their murky color and shape. Everything seemed quiet.

"Wore the wrong freakin' shoes," came the complaint from very close to Sam's left shoulder.

Sam couldn't resist chuckling, knowing how much his brother preferred the flat streets of the city to the great outdoors. "Little late to be worrying about accessorizing, don'tcha think?"

"Oh, screw you." Dean stumbled slightly over a branch, drawing a curse from his lips and another laugh from the tall form in front of him. "How far to this cave, anyway?"

"About a mile," he responded, briefly shining his light down at the map he held before returning his attention to the trail.

Despite the occasional complaints from Dean, they made good time around the mountain, the trail mostly angling downhill which gave them an added burst of speed. Being late, there was no one else around the trails, camping being prohibited outside of the sectioned off campgrounds, so they found their hike unhindered.

They paused outside of the mouth of the cave, Dean unzipping his canvas duffel, holding out the torch for Sam again. Sam took the weapon absently, scanning the entrance of the cave carefully. So far, there seemed to be no signs of the things they were hunting. Only a section of the cave was open for touring. He figured the nest lay past the point where human traffic was stopped.

After a moment, Dean joined him in his scan of the entrance, glancing inside the cave as far as his light would shine, forcing his eyes to focus on anything out of the ordinary. The parasites might have been translucent when they were hungry, but they weren't entirely invisible to the trained eye. His brow furrowed in concentration and he tossed the duffel aside at the entrance, not needing the extra item to carry. He cleared his throat, glancing over at his brother.

"Ready?" he questioned quietly, tilting his head toward the cave.

Sam sighed, shifting his weight on the balls of his feet slowly. After a moment's pause, he nodded, leveling his flashlight and stepping into the coolness of the cavern. The rock was smooth along the floor and up along the sides, as if carved out by water. The taller brother found that he had to somewhat slouch in order to fit comfortably at some points, slightly pulling his concentration away from sweeping the area in front of him.

Dean walked beside him, unhindered by the burden of extra height, his concentration solely on the hunt. Soft, slightly annoying squelches could be heard further down in the cavern, forcing them off the marked off walkway, sending them down into the uncharted territory of the cave, which became slick and uneven. Sam fumbled a bit with his footing, his larger frame making it difficult to be as nimble as his brother as they made their way forward, still trying to make sure they didn't step directly into the nest.

The noise grew louder as they scrambled down a steeper decline on the uneven trail, and Dean held up his hand for his brother to stop. There, only a stone's throw in front of them, seemed to lie the nest, crawling with pulsing, squirming parasites, most of them seeming to have fed recently. Dean held down a gag and shuddered, shaking his head as he glanced over at his brother, gesturing in front of him.

"Pass any on the way down here?" he mouthed, waiting for Sam to answer in the negative. "That means they should all be here, right?"

Sam's eyes danced around the constantly moving mass, taking stock of what laid in front of them. Their prey seemed to be lying in a large basin, surrounded by rocks. It was damp here, the water that entered the cave heated by underground hot springs. The brothers already found sweat beading on their faces as they stood there. After a moment, he nodded in the affirmative to Dean's question, holding up his weapon with a shrug.

"Watch for runners," came the mimed order as he lifted his own, aiming for the center of the basin, hoping to inflict maximum damage.

Sam took several steps off to the side, preparing to sweep the edges as his brother fried the middle of the nest. He could see what appeared to be the largest shale resting motionless on one of the rocks. He readied himself, making that his starting point.

From the corner of his eye, he could see his brother counting down slowly, his thumb moving to the trigger. Simultaneously, they depressed their triggers, sending two large streams of engulfing flame lapping into the indent in the rock, Sam directing his to what he thought was the alpha.

As before, an immediate chorus of shrieks and screeches rose from the things trapped in the fire and those left untouched instantly began to slither away from the offending heat. Sam chased those moving away with his own fire, his eyes constantly flickering from side to side to make sure none escaped.

Even after the loud, offending screams had faded, they continued their sweep, ensuring that these things wouldn't rise again. Sweat seemed to pour from them now, the heat becoming overbearing in a very short amount of time. Weak and low on oxygen, they dropped their weapons to their sides, slightly panting in an attempt to breathe through the heavy air.

Dean wiped at the sweat on his brow with the back of his hand, swallowing awkwardly as he surveyed the damage. Nothing moved. Small, curled, crisped corpses were all that remained, sole testament to what they had faced. He offered Sam a small smile, nodding back behind them toward the entrance of the cave, needing to get back out into the open air so he could breathe easier. He heard a sound of what appeared to be agreement as the younger moved off in front of him, using his hand against the cave wall for support.

The trip back topside seemed to take much longer as they stumbled in apparent dizziness, a bit weak from having been trapped in the heat. The cool air rushed around them as they exited the mouth of the cave, immediately sitting down on the hard ground as they regrouped themselves.

"Anti-climatic, huh?" Dean retorted, reaching for the canvas bag to repack their empty canisters.

"At least it's over," came the reply as Sam pushed himself to his feet, absently dusting himself off.

"I hear that," he mumbled, stretching as he eyed the trail back up the mountain. "This is gonna suck."

**~8675309~**

Dean tossed his damp towel onto the bathroom floor, reentering the motel room wearing only his jeans. He kicked Sam's bed as he walked past, rousing his brother from his unintended nap. Groggily, the younger Winchester stumbled into the bathroom, taking his turn washing the sweat and grime away as Dean settled back on his bed, flipping idly through the channels, grinning slightly to himself as he found an episode of Dr. Sexy, M.D.

When he heard the bathroom doorknob turn, he quickly skipped ahead several channels as if he were still channel surfing, glancing out of the corner of his eye to watch Sam pace back into the room, using the small towel to dry his ears.

"Figure we'll probably get a few hours sleep and head out in the morning. Should be done here," Dean commented, flipping off the television and tossing the remote on the bedside table. "Maybe Bobby'll have another lead on Eve when we get back, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed, laying back on his bed and staring absently at the ceiling.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean started to lean forward to get a better look at his brother.

"Yeah, just tired. Think the heat got to me a little." Quietly, he pulled back the covers on his bed and climbed between them, turning on his side before Dean could ask him anything else. Within a few short minutes, his easy breathing gave away the fact that he'd already fallen into a deep sleep.

"G'night, Sam." He flipped the lamp on the table off and found himself sliding between the sheets, yawning widely before giving in to sleep himself.

**~8675309~**

Both brothers woke before dawn, stretching themselves awake before ducking into the bathroom to begin their morning rituals of getting ready. Sam seemed to be in much better spirits, packing their clothes away while Dean brushed his teeth, the sound of his loud gargling seeming to echo out into the room.

Sam rolled his eyes, hiking the duffel up on his shoulder and striding from the room, moving to throw their bag in the back seat of the Impala. He paused, his arms coming to rest on the top of the car as he peered off toward the Sheriff's Department, wondering if they shouldn't put a call in to let the sheriff know everything was going to be okay now.

"Breakfast on the way?" Dean asked, closing the door behind him as he joined his brother in the parking lot.

"You go check out. I'll duck into the diner and pick us up something to go," he compromised, watching Dean nod as he turned toward the office. "Hey, Dean. Call the sheriff." "Right."

He turned as he heard the office door open and walked the short distance down to the diner, stepping up to the counter and decidedly making their breakfast order for them. Dean had pulled into the parking lot by the time he'd paid and made his way outside. He handed the bag through the window to his brother and slid into the passenger seat, waiting for Dean to dig out what he wanted.

The older Winchester chewed happily on his toasted BLT, pulling out onto the road and heading back toward South Dakota, the sounds of Metallica playing a little quieter than usual in the background. Dean was even managing not to sing along, merely letting the miles pass under his wheels without much noticing, letting his thoughts wander.

Sunrise came and went, bringing with it a bright, cheerful morning. It passed by mostly unnoticed as did noon. Dean finally switched off the music and looked over at his brother, expecting to find him asleep. Instead, Sam was leaning rather heavily against the door, slumped in an uncomfortable position with his head lolling absently against the window. Dean wasn't sure how long he'd been that way.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" he asked, his brow furrowed. "Bad breakfast?" He glanced back to the road for a moment, then back over at his brother.

"Don't…don't feel so good."

"Gonna puke?" He reached over, checking for fever, finding Sam to be clammy and chilled. He almost missed the imperceptible nod. "Need me to pull over, Sammy?"

He nodded fervently this time, reaching for the handle before Dean had managed to make a full stop, finding his knees and retching into the grass on the side of the road. Worriedly, Dean threw himself out of the car and jogged around to the passenger side, stopping short as he saw the blood mingled in with the bile that covered the ground in front of his brother.

"Sammy?" he asked, kneeling down and reaching for his brother. "Just hold still." Carefully, he lifted the tail of Sam's shirt, a curse ripping from his lips as he found the coin-sized hole burned at the base of his brother's spine.

"W-what 'sit?" Sam managed, sitting back on his haunches. He raised his hand to his lips, wiping the fluid on his lips away. His eyes widened as he found the blood. "Dean?"

"Get back in the car, Sammy," he ordered, hoisting his brother up and pushing him back into the passenger seat. There only hope now was to get to Bobby's before time ran out.

**TBC...**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: At Bobby's house. Where is Castiel?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.**

Dean had sped up, throwing caution to the wind as he realized his brother's plight, sending them hurtling towards Bobby's house as quickly as the Impala could manage. He had sent out impatient calls to Castiel, both on his cell phone and through intermittent yelling. Sam could only observe his brother is wide-eyed shock, trying to keep his heart rate steady so he wouldn't speed the acid seeping into his body. He had no idea when he'd been attacked. There'd been no mark when he'd thrown his clothes on that morning.

He was beginning to feel dizzy and weak, his stomach churning dangerously. He took deep breaths through his nose, willing himself to stay calm. He'd be okay once they got to Bobby's, he was sure of it. Dean had already called ahead to have things ready for when they got there.

Dean slid to a stop in front of Bobby's ramshackle house and quickly ran to the passenger's side of the car, yanking the door open and pulling his brother out, practically carrying him inside. Bobby led them upstairs to one of the guestrooms where Dean deposited the tall, swaying form of his brother onto the bed.

"How long, Dean?" the older hunter asked, kneeling beside Sam and reaching for supplies on the bedside table.

"I dunno, Bobby," came the breathy answer as he struggled to get himself under control.

"This morning," Sam managed weakly, gripping the edge of the bed to remain sitting up. His body felt as if it were on fire.

"Drink this." Bobby held a cup of steaming liquid up to his face, helping him drink the bitter contents down. "When it takes effect, the only chance we got is ipecac."

Sam shuddered, eyeing the bottle of syrup on the table. "How…how much damage you think it's already done?"

Bobby met his eyes, conveying his uncertainty and fear.

"I'm s-still awake. That's a good th-thing, right?" he stammered, glancing back and forth between the two men, desperately seeking reassurance.

"Yeah, Sam," Bobby patted his knee, moving to sit beside him on the bed, "that's a real good thing."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, cocking his jaw as he fought to keep his anger down. They'd been careful. This case had been so easy, it was laughable. Cut and dry, they'd burned the nest and that was that. His eyes darted around the room, his mind racing as he tried to think. He had no idea where they'd picked up the straggler, no idea when it had bored into his brother's back. This would be catastrophic damage, and there would be no doctor in the world who could put him right again. Even if Bobby's brew worked, the acid had already been in Sam's body for several hours. Cas would be their only hope.

"Where ya goin'?" Sam asked lazily, his words beginning to slur together.

Dean had pushed away from the bed, walking heavily toward the door. He paused, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Gonna try to reach Cas. Again." His words had came out with a forced calm, but it was easy to read the impatience and anger he was suppressing.

He stalked out to the junkyard, his breath heavy as tears stung his eyes. He'd seen what these things could do, and he knew that his brother would eventually find the same fate, only slower with Bobby's help. That was no comfort at all, knowing that Sam's suffering would be prolonged. He propped himself on the hood of the nearest car, taking in great gulps of air as he fought to keep himself under control. _Gotta be strong for Sammy._

"Cas!" he eventually cried out, casting his eyes heavenward. "Dammit, Cas, we need you down here!" He turned, knowing better than to expect anything. There was no tell-tale flutter of wings and no deep voice to greet him as his eyes scanned over the piles of wreckage. "C'mon, Cas." His voice was quieter now, pleading. "Sam's dyin'. He's not gonna make it if you don't help." He hung his head, tears falling unhindered from his eyes. "I know we depend on you too much, Cas, but I can't fight this fight without 'im. Please. Please answer me." He squeezed his eyes shut, his voice hardly a whisper. "Anything. Anything at all."

He waited for a long while, finding his knees in the dirt as he continued to whisper his prayer, desperately seeking for anyone to hear him. He couldn't show this to Sam. He couldn't let Sam see how bad off he really was.

Several more long, silent minutes passed and he forced himself back to his feet, wiping angrily at his eyes, composing himself as he walked a little more sedately back into the house. Sounds of retching reached his ears. Bobby had given Sam the ipecac. The belladonna had done it's work.

He made his way back up the stairs, watching Bobby settle his brother back into the bed. The older hunter looked back at him, question in his eyes. He shook his head, receiving the same response in answer to his unspoken question. Bobby had swept the offending parasite into the waste bin as it had haphazardly dug out of Sam's body, writhing on the floor as the poison had done it's work. He patted Dean's shoulder and carried the bin from the room.

Quietly, Dean paced over the bed, sitting down carefully beside a pale, shaking Sam. He tried to put on a mask of confidence as the younger Winchester looked up at him, not wanting to give away how scared he was.

"How ya feelin', Sammy?" Dean asked gently, smoothing Sam's hair back from his sweaty brow.

"H'rts," he breathed, a single tear falling from the corner of his eye to disappear into his hairline. "Cas?"

"Workin' on it." He offered him a small, sympathetic smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Bobby went back downstairs to see if he could find anything else in the book."

"'M scared, D'n."

He reached down, taking Sam's hand in his own. "Can't think like that, Sammy. I'm not going anywhere, alright?" He waited for the answering nod before he stood, making his way over to the other side of the bed. Sam rolled unsteadily onto his side as Dean took his place, sitting against the headboard, his leg resting full against Sam's back. The contact seemed to comfort him.

"Wh't h'ppns now?" he managed through gritted teeth as he willed the pain coursing through him to subside.

"You rest, and you get better," came the order.

Sam closed his eyes, hearing the words his father would have spoken. It was a comfort.

Dean laid his hand on his brother's arm as he sensed the shaking coming from the younger man. It seemed worse than before. "Bobby give you somethin' to help you sleep?"

Sam grunted in response, his eyes squeezing shut. What had started as minor discomfort had turned into waves of pain, each greater than the last, mirroring his pulse. As he heart rate increased, so did the pain, forcing him to curl into a fetal position.

Dean found his knees leaning over the heavily distressed body of his brother, trying to figure out what needed to be done. Sam grabbed his wrist, squeezing tightly as he let out a deafening, pained cry.

**tbc**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Short chapter, I know. Please forgive the writer's block. Moving is a pain (US to Aus) and I'm also working on another fic as well as writing a novel. I enjoy hearing from you, so please lemme know what you think. Promises of more hurt/Sam to come and crying Dean, which I know everyone loves. Please forgive any typos or errors I might have made. I'm exhausted!**

"Oh, God, Sam," he choked, scrambling over his brother, "what's happening? What's wrong? Tell me what to do." He smoothed Sam's hair back from his face, searching the lines of pain that had appeared, etching the younger man's skin. He cringed as Sam cried out again, his eyes wide, staring at Dean as the pain ripped through him without reprieve. "Sammy?"

"Help,…Dean," he wheezed, "p-please." He coughed, drawing in deep, ragged breaths that caught in his chest.

"Bobby!" the older Winchester called, his ears straining as he listened for the hunter to make his way up the stairs. "Hang on, Sammy. Just hang on. We'll figure this out."

"It's t-t-too late." He clutched Dean's wrist, his breaths burning agony through him. "N'd Cas." He coughed again, blood spurting up to coat his lips.

Dean wiped at the offending crimson stain, his chest tightening in fear. They were no longer the vessels. They were no longer needed to advert the apocalypse. They were expendable. "Still workin' on that, Sammy." He looked over as Bobby ran into the room, pale. "Bobby. Need a pain killer or somethin'. Please tell me ya got somethin'. Anything."

Bobby rummaged through the basket under the bedside table, throwing aside rolls of gauze and bandages, searching for the bottled liquid injections hidden at the bottom. Sam's cries seemed to echo from every corner of the room and he writhed on the bed, forcing Dean to hold him down to keep him from flailing about.

"Easy, Sammy," he murmured, watching Bobby find the injection he needed and scramble up to the bed, pinching up the skin on Sam's forearm to stick the needle in, pressing the plunger to release the needed drugs into his blood. "Easy."

It took a long ten minutes before the pain killers began to take effect and Sam's body began to relax under Dean's grip. The screaming abated to occasional whimpers and he finally laid still against the bed. Dean sat back heavily, stumbling out of the room to dampen a washcloth to wipe the blood from his brother's face.

"Have another one of those ready, please, Bobby," Dean managed gruffly, rubbing the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Need to keep him calm." He ran the damp cloth across Sam's chin and down his neck, cleaning up the streaming blood, trying to ignore the creeping fear that was threatening to consume him. Sam was worsening, fast.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was small and weak, breathy. He was too tired to open his eyes to look up at his brother.

"Rest up, Sammy." He pulled the quilt up over the tall, trembling form and stood, walking with Bobby to stand outside the door. "Thanks, Bobby."

"Told ya, boy, I ain't lookin' to bury either of ya any time soon." He frowned, looking back at the bed. "I know the how ain't important, Dean."

"I left…I left the bag on the ground when we went in." He looked at the wall behind Bobby's head, his eyes glassy. "I took the torches out, tossed the bag on the ground. That's the only way we coulda missed it. Only way. It's my fault, Bobby." He hung his head, a single tear dropping down his cheek. "My little brother is paying for my mistake…_with his life._"

"Hey," Bobby murmured, laying his hand on Dean's shoulder. "These things are natural hunters. Hell, besides eat each other, that's all these damned things do."

The distraught youth looked up, sighing. "Been at this too long." He gave a half-hearted chuckle. "Gettin' sloppy."

"Hell, boy. We just finished with Lucifer and Michael and now we're dealin' with the mother of all evil. We're all _tired_ and you two chuckleheads have been out there doin' all the legwork." He shook him gently. "Don't sell yourself short, Dean."

Reluctantly, he nodded, turning back to the bedroom.

"I've gotta go scare up some more of those shots. Have to make a run out. You gonna be alright here?"

"Yeah, yeah." Dean waved dismissively. "Thanks again, Bobby."

They moved apart, Bobby descended the stairs while Dean returned to his brother, resuming his place by Sam's side, watching the easy rise and fall of his chest as he had fallen into a heavy sleep, the pain lessened by the shot. His breath would catch occasionally and he'd cough, leaving Dean on edge.

"Cas, where are you?"

**~8675309~**

Sam curled onto his side, shuddering. Sweat covered his body and he groaned miserably. His head pounded and his joints ached, dull throbs through the effect of the second pain killer shot. He was only vaguely aware that Dean was talking to him and fussing over him, and he couldn't form words to respond to him anymore. His brother's face swam in and out of view and eventually faded into nothing but a blur.

Dean paused, checking Sam's eyes. His brother stared forward blankly, no longer attempting to respond to him like he had been doing through grunts and eye contact.

"Sammy?" he forced himself to ask, watching Sam's eyes shift off to the side, staring at nothing. A slight trickle of blood had ran from the corner of his mouth and was dripping slowly onto the sheet. "Oh, no you don't, Sam." He checked for reflexes, looking up at Bobby in panic as the older hunter reentered the room. "Bobby, what do I do?"

The elder knelt by the bed, checking Sam over for himself, shaking his head. He tried to hide his own fear from the panicking man beside him.

"Bobby?" Dean asked again, his eyes widened, "please. _What do I do?_"

"I…I don't know, son," he managed. "I don't know…"

**tbc…**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Perhaps bit of a sadder chapter. I hope you enjoy.**

Dean lingered worriedly by the bed, afraid to go to sleep and leave Sam alone. It was well into night now, and Sam had been unresponsive since that afternoon, occasionally coughing up more blood from the damage the acid had already done. The older Winchester had opted for a basin of cool water, giving him something to rinse the washcloth in to keep his brother's face clean. The water had to be changed every half hour; Sam had already lost so much blood.

Bobby had retreated back downstairs to work on translating more of the text, hoping that there would be some clue as to how to cure the younger Winchester in a section he hadn't reached yet. It left Dean alone upstairs, a prayer for help from Cas on his lips as he once again erased the blood that marred his brother's skin. He knew his baby brother wouldn't make it without intervention from Castiel.

Fever burned through Sam and his body twitched, occasionally turning to hard seizures, sending his body arching back in painful positions, his head jerking back as he choked and sputtered on his own blood. These fits were becoming more and more frequent as the hours passed, leaving him panting, tears leaking from his eyes to soak into the pillow. Each seizure took him longer to recover. His body was weakening quickly.

Dean stood, lifting the bowl and staggering tiredly to the bathroom, dumping the bloody water into the sink, watching it drain. It felt as if his hope was draining with it. He was still for a moment before running fresh water into the bowl.

"Cas," he prayed again for what seemed like the thousandth time that day, his voice gruff with grief, "Cas,…please. I'm cryin' uncle here, okay? I don't know what else to do. Sam…is going…to die, and there's nothin' I can do to stop it." He hung his head, crying unashamedly. "It's my fault. It's all my fault." He balled his hand into a fist, squeezing the washcloth he held. "I've watched him die too many times. I can't…I can't do this again. Please."

He fell silent, his breath catching in his chest, an audible sob tearing from his throat. Desperation and determination had filled him when Sam had been stabbed right in front of his eyes. He'd known what to do. Now, no demon would make a deal for the life of his brother. There was no plan B this time. Without Castiel's help, he'd be putting his brother in the ground for the last time. No longer the vessels and no longer needed to save the world, their only hope was the good graces of the one angel who was trying to regain some semblance of order in a lawless Heaven.

Startled back to reality by another loud cry from Sam's room followed by a noticeable thud, he lifted the bowl and made his way quickly back across the hall, not bothering to wipe the tears from his face. Sam was on the floor, caught in another seizure. His body twisted and arched, his veins bulging against his taut skin.

"Ah, hell, Sam." He worked his way behind his brother, pulling the tall, struggling form into his arms as his body slowly stilled. "I got ya. Easy, Sammy." He found himself flashing back to Stalls Cemetery, feeling Sam's fists connecting to his face, his body, feeling bone-crushing force of the punches fueled by angelic rage. "_It's okay, Sammy. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you alone."_

He rocked his brother back and forth in his arms, repeating his promise with each rocking motion. Tears streamed down his cheeks. This had been the worst spell yet. He didn't know how to cope with losing his brother again. Lisa wouldn't take him back, not this time. Sam was all he had left.

"_I'm here. I'm here, Sammy…not gonna leave you."_ He fisted his hands in the fabric of Sam's shirt. "_Not gonna leave you alone._"

**~8675309~**

"_Who's there?" Sam called, inching into the hallway, knife raised. He could hear the sound of whispers coming from downstairs. Quickly, he looked around, noting that he was in Bobby's house. He looked back into the bedroom, seeing the blood that stained the sheet and spilled out onto the floor. His brow furrowed in worry. Blood at Bobby's house was never a good sign. Where was Dean? "Dean?"_

_He made quick work of the stairs, striding quickly into the living room that had been transformed into the study. Bobby sat behind the desk, nursing a glass of whiskey, Dean sat near the window, an empty glass also in his hand. His hands, arms, and clothes were covered in blood. Tears streaked his cheeks, cutting a path through the blood on his face._

"_Dean?" he asked again, moving to stand by his brother._

_Dean sat his glass down for Bobby to refill, seeming not to have noticed his brother. The older hunter topped up Dean's glass, sitting back heavily in his own chair._

"_It's time, ya know," Bobby murmured, taking a sip from his glass._

"_Not yet, Bobby. I can't bury him yet." He looked down at his glass, catching sight of his bloody hands and arms again. It was a fresh reminder._

"_Dean!" Sam reached down, attempting to shake his brother. His hand passed through the shoulder without seeming to alert the older Winchester. "Oh, God." He stumbled back, looking down at himself. The blood that covered Dean had came from him._

"_Ya can't go an' do somethin' stupid like ya did before, boy," he warned._

"_I know," he sighed, draining his glass again. "Thing is…no demon is gonna deal like they did before. I just…wanna give Cas one more chance." He looked up, grief written clearly on his rugged face. "He can't just leave us like that. I mean, he loves Sam, too. He can't just abandon us now."_

"_I dunno, Dean. That angel is fillin' a tall order. There's no tellin' what he's facin' up there. Hell, there's no tellin' even where he is." He waved the bottle, waiting for Dean to place his glass back on the desk for a refill. "I didn't wanna lose Sam either, son. You boys have been like my own for years."_

"_I know, Bobby, I know," Dean whispered raggedly, trying to fight back his tears. "Where do I go from here? Where do we go? I…I don't wanna live this life anymore."_

"_When I figure that out, you'll be the first to know, son." He took a swig. "We'll need another team or three, that's for sure. You and Sam are practically an army by yourselves."_

"_Dean, I'm right here," Sam pleaded, kneeling beside his brother. "Please, just look at me. I'm not dead."_

"_Yeah," Dean finally agreed. "Should give it a day or two. I don't think I'm ready for this."_

"_I sure as hell ain't."_

_Dean drained his glass one last time and pushed himself to his feet and stumbled off to the next room. Sam heard the thud on the floor, signaling that Dean had passed out on the floor. He sighed, looking down at himself again. There had to be a mistake and there had to be a way to fix this, he just had to find it. He couldn't be dead. After all, he'd not seen a single reaper come to lead him away._

_He walked slowly to the next room where Dean had found the floor and stood, looking over his brother. "Don't give up on me yet, Dean. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you."_

**tbc…**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I hope this is a suitable update for all of you. Thanks for all of the wonderful reviews and adds. I hope to be reaching a conclusion to this fic soon. Be sure to drop your thoughts in a review! They make my day and keep me writing.**

Dean lingered worriedly by Sam as the night passed into morning. He hadn't slept, instead forcing himself to stay awake as his younger brother's fits became more frequent. Fear clutched him deep, shaking him to the core, sapping too much of his energy for him to feel angry like he wanted to be. He wanted to be furious with Castiel for ignoring their desperate pleas for help. He wanted to be furious with himself for letting his guard down enough that Sam was even in this situation at all. He just simply did not have the energy to feel more than the fear and impending loss that hovered over his head.

He couldn't help but notice how much his brother had faded over the night, his golden skin had paled to a sickly, ashen grey and large, dark circles had appeared under his eyes. A faint red stain covered his lips and chin where a steady, almost continual now. The damage was irreversible without divine intervention.

Wearily, he rubbed at his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. He felt helpless now. Even the occasional prayer for Cas that he still murmured instinctively came less and less frequently. After all they had been through, he couldn't believe that Cas would just hang them out to dry. They may not be needed anymore, but Cas was supposed to be their friend. Surely that warranted at least thirty seconds of attention, even if he disappeared again directly afterward.

Sam's breathing had became labored and shallow, wheezing in his chest as he fought instinctively to breathe. A tear slid down Dean's cheek as he listened, his glassy eyes searching somewhere above him for answers as his brother labored to live beside him.

"I dunno what to do, Sammy," Dean whispered hoarsely, looking up at his brother from where he sat on the floor, the bloody bowl of water between his legs. "We're kinda outta options here. Hell, I dunno where Cas is. I dunno how to stop this. I'm sorry, Sammy." His hands laid limply against his thighs as he simply sat there, waiting for the next episode to send him scrambling to his brother's aide.

"Well," Bobby said, shuffling slowly back into the room, "the book is pretty much useless. Squat on how to fix the survivors." He leaned against the doorframe, looking over the sad scene in front of him with sad eyes. "I'm sorry, son. It don't look good."

"Yeah," he managed to respond, "yeah, thanks, Bobby." He closed his eyes, absently thumping his head back against the wall.

"Look, why don't ya try to rest for a bit, Dean? I'll sit with Sam."

"Not leavin' 'im, Bobby." Solemnly, he looked over at the older hunter again, pain filling his eyes. "If he's goin', he's not goin' alone. I will be here…until the last…damned…breath."

Reluctantly, Bobby nodded, knowing it was useless to argue. Instead, he pulled a chair over to the corner and plopped down, intending to keep a watch on the two of them. "He won't be alone, boy."

**~8675309~**

_Sam turned where he stood, moving through the house, turning through Bobby's books in search of something that might help him. He blinked, trying to clear the blur from his eyes as he poured over the first book, flipping quickly through the pages. Drops of blood fell down onto the old pages, staining through to the pages beneath. Irritated, he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, willing the bleeding to stop. It was starting to ebb at his energy, enough to be annoying._

"_What the hell is going on?" he demanded out loud, finding no answers in the pages before him. He slammed the book back on the table, pacing around the room, running his hand through his hair in frustration, the other coming to rest on his hip. He coughed, feeling more blood fill his mouth. He moved to the sink, spitting it out in annoyance. His throat burned and his body ached, and it was beginning to wear on him._

_Images began to flash through his mind, followed by horrible pain, sending him crashing against the sink. He found his knees on the floor, gripping the side of the counter to keep himself upright. Winded, he panted, his eyes wide. He was dying._

"_Dean," he whispered, pushing himself unsteadily back to his feet. He'd seen his brother holding him tight, talking to him, trying to get him to answer. He'd seen the tears and felt the grief overwhelm him. Hopelessness. Desperation. _

_He stumbled over to the room where Dean had passed out on the floor, finding his brother no longer there. Confused, he spun on his heel, looking around the room._

"_Dean!" he called. He glanced out the window, seeing the Impala parked in front of the house. He'd hadn't left. Weakening quickly, he pulled himself up the stairs, forcing one foot in front of the other as he made his way to the door of the bedroom he'd came out of a while before. Dean was sitting against the wall by the bed, a bowl of crimson liquid held between his legs on the floor. "Dean."_

_He made his way to the bed, exhausted, looking down at the bloody sheet. He looked over at his brother, watching Dean reach up with the damp cloth. After a moment, he drew it back, bloody. Sam blinked, realizing that his body must be laying on the bed. A wave of nausea passed through him. He gripped the footboard of the bed, determined to stay on his feet._

_A sound from the corner drew his attention and he found Bobby, sitting in the small armchair that had sat at the foot of the bed. The older hunter's head was bowed forward as he had nodded off, light snores sounding occasionally, the sound that had drawn his attention in the first place. Addled, he turned back to the bed, pausing in shock. He could see his own body laying curled up on the bed, in a fetal position on his side._

_The state of his body shocked him more than the out of body experience he was apparently having. The graying skin was a stark contrast against the blood that dropped from his lips._

"_I'm here, Sammy," Dean whispered, smoothing Sam's hair back from his face. "We're just waitin' on Cas. Just waitin'." Sam looked down at his brother, his face swimming in and out of view._

"_Dean." He tried to reach down to touch his brother again, but he swayed dangerously, forcing him to grip tighter to the bed. "I'm tryin', Dean."_

"_Don't give up, Sammy. I'm here." He didn't bother to wipe at the fresh tears on his cheeks, which seemed to be constant now. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault, Sammy. I was stupid…left that bag on the ground. Should be me layin' in this bed, not you."_

"_No, Dean. D-don't say that. Don't say that." He groaned, clutching his midsection. Eyes widened slightly, he looked down at his brother, feeling like a small child again. "Cas…Cas isn't coming, is he?"_

_He cried out, blinding light flowing through him as he convulsed. The world went dark._

**tbc…**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Still sending thanks for the positive feedback and encouragement…and the adds. I'm glad you're enjoying. Conclusion coming up in the next day or so!**

The sunlight streaming through the window with the early morning seemed offending to Dean's tired, reddened eyes. His head pounded and he felt ill, moving to the bathroom to clean and refill the bowl for what seemed like the thousandth time. He felt robotic, his body disconnected from his brain as it moved through the motions seemingly of its own accord. There were no tears left for him to cry and his throat was raw.

Carefully placing one foot in front of the other, he made his way back across the hall and into the bedroom, noting to himself that it had been over two hours since Sam's last convulsion. Worriedly, he checked for a pulse, finding it faint and fleeting under his fingertips. He sighed heavily, sinking back down to his abandoned seat on the floor.

Cas wasn't coming. He'd resigned himself to that. Since the last attack, he'd been preparing himself for the moment that Sam would draw his last, ragged breath, once more leaving him alone to face the terrors that they faced every day. It wasn't just that he'd promised their father that he'd look after his younger brother. As strong as they were apart, they were stronger together, despite their continual need to sacrifice their lives for one another.

"Dean?" Bobby mumbled from his corner, stirring a bit. "How is he?"

"Alive," he answered, his voice hoarse and hardly audible, "barely." He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. "Won't be much longer now."

Uncomfortable silence fell over the room. This was now officially a deathwatch. Dean had never felt this helpless before, though he imagined Sam had. His younger brother had been pinned to the wall, forced to watch the hellhound rip his body apart when his year had been over. He'd gone on to have four months without him while Dean had been in Hell. Would there be a redemption for Sam this time? With Sam's history, could it be possible for him to find Heaven rather than Hell waiting for him on the other side of eternity? The possibilities made his head spin.

"He…he doesn't deserve Hell, Bobby," Dean finally spoke, looking back at the man he'd come to think of as a father. "Is there…any hope for Heaven for him? After all we've done?"

"Son," Bobby paused, pushing himself out of his chair so he could move to stand in front of Dean, "we'll do everything we can…to keep him from goin' to Hell. Neither of you boys deserve that."

Dean's chin quivered and he bit the inside of his lip, searching the air between them, desperate for some shred of hope to fall his way. When he spoke, it was with a small, defeated voice. "I'm scared, Bobby."

"I know, son…I am too." He sighed, taking his hat off and scratching his scalp though his matted hair. "I'm gonna go…make some calls. Maybe some of the feelers I put out yesterday will've paid off. You…you call me if anything changes."

He nodded, dreading being left alone in the room with his weakening brother. He looked back to the bed as Bobby walked out, his eyes resting on Sam's tired, pale face. Within moments, he found himself thinking back to all they had shared since their childhood. Sam was more than his brother; Sam was his best friend.

Exhausted, he sighed, finding his eyes drifting closed of their own accord. He soon found himself lulled into a light sleep where images of Sam's lifeless eyes stared accusingly into his own, searing into his mind. He could even hear Sam blaming him and he could do nothing to defend himself, agreeing that it was his fault. He should be the one on the bed, not Sam.

He found himself startled awake a few hours later to the sound of struggling on the bed. He scrambled to his feet, the bowl of water skidding across the floor as he grasped his brother's arm, trying to keep him from thrashing about. His breathing was shallow and labored, wheezing in his chest and the cries that had faded hours ago were back, redoubled in their intensity.

"Sammy?" Dean called, shaking his brother.

Sam's eyes snapped open and he grasped Dean's shirt, pulling him close to him, his lips working, trying to form words.

"Sam?" He tried to read Sam's lips. "Sam, I'm here."

He screamed, his body lifting off the bed as a bright, pulsing light surrounded his body, completely encasing him and forcing Dean to look away.

"Bobby!" the older Winchester called frantically, forced to loose his grip on his brother and back away, the heat intense. "_Bobby! _Oh, God, Sam!"

"Dean!" The panicked cry came from the midst of the blinding light, followed by pained cries for help.

Dean reached back toward his brother, but found the heat unbearable, singing his skin. He drew back, gaping. There was no heat until he tried to touch his brother. "_What the hell is goin' on?_" He'd never seen anything like this before. Fearing the worst, he steeled himself, bit the inside of his cheek, and reached forward determinedly, feeling his hands grip Sam's shirt before the burning sensation intensified. He cried out, cursing as he drew back, his hands and arms burned and scarred. Shocked beyond pain, he could only stare down at the unrecognizable flesh.

"Dean?" Bobby called, pausing in the doorway as he found the scene in front of him. He knelt down beside the older Winchester, his wide eyes sweeping over the burnt flesh. "What…what the hell?" He started as renewed screams sounded from the bed, the light glowing brighter, forcing them to shield their eyes.

As suddenly as it had started, it faded. They unshielded their eyes, freezing as they found Sam standing in front of them, a soft, golden glow resonating from his body, white glowing from his eyes. He stared down at them for a moment before reaching down, laying light fingers against the ruined flesh of his brother's arm. Dean gasped as he felt a sharp rush of pain, tingles coursing from his fingertips to his elbows. He looked down to find the burns completely healed.

"Sammy?" he whispered in awe, looking up at his brother. "Are you…are you…what's goin' on?"

"I…did not mean to make you worry, Dean," Sam said in a voice that was not his own. It was deeper, more commanding. "It…is over now. You should both rest. We have work to do."

"Cas?" Dean managed.

The light intensified again, pulsating outward, forcing them to look away. When they looked back, Sam was laying on the bed, apparently in a deep sleep. Dean crawled to his feet and stumbled over to the bed, looking down at what had just been a glowing Adonis. Sam was no longer the sickly grey that had scared Dean so much. His skin had regained the healthy tan that it had always had. No blood dripped from his lips, the crimson stain had been erased. He felt weak in the knees, overwhelmed, and looked over at his mentor, hoping for answers.

Bobby had none for him.

**tbc…**

**Stay tuned for the conclusion, coming up right after the commercial break.**


	12. Chapter 12

_Sam exhaled through a sob, his body finally coming still against the wooden floor. He looked up, blinking slowly as the room swam back into view. It felt as if he were being held down and he struggled to free himself, the remainder of his energy quickly fading his body. He coughed, turning his head to the side, expelling more blood onto the floor. Shuddering, he felt his body go completely limp, leaving him stranded there on the floor._

_A glance from the corner of his eye showed him that he was now alone in the room. Dean and Bobby were gone. They wouldn't have left him alone to die._

"_I'm sorry," he groaned, "Dean, I'm sorry. I…I said I'd f-fix this. I c-c-can't." Pain coursed through him, causing him to clamp his eyes shut, grunting in discomfort. He balled his fists by his side._

_It wasn't long before he was passing in and out of consciousness, his body no longer having the energy to fight. In the brief moments of clarity he was allowed, he tried to muster enough will power to sit up, but could do little more than rock slightly from side. Soon, he was no longer able to do even that. It was then that he began preparing himself for the high possibility that he wouldn't be making it out of this one alive._

_He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he could feel himself being pushed toward the inevitable. His breath had started to catch in his chest and he wheezed, the blood threatening to choke him. Each moment of consciousness seemed darker than the last, sending him slowly into the grey. He had no idea what waited for him on the other side. Mercy was too much to hope for. After all, he had been Lucifer's vessel. He had turned himself into a monster and he had started the Apocalypse, even if he'd sacrificed himself to end it._

_His eyes widened and he arched up off the floor, feeling as if something had gripped his heart tight. He couldn't breathe. Frantically, he cried out before he felt the breath crushed out of his chest. The pain was intense and everything started to fade completely. This was it. He was dying._

"_D'n," he sputtered through clenched teeth, desperately wishing for his brother._

"_Sam."_

_He looked up into the calculating eyes of Castiel, who was now kneeling just beside him. He reached out, grasping the front of his trench coat, trying to ask him where he'd been, trying to ask him for help._

"_This…will not be pleasant for you, Sam. It was not safe for me to visit you in your reality. I can only hope Dean will understand." He offered Sam as much of a sympathetic look he could offer. "You must understand, I do not consider either of you disposable. We have work to do." He grasped Sam's wrist. "Hold on."_

_He looked down, feeling a sharp pain start in his chest and spread through his body. It was the worst pain he'd felt through the whole ordeal, feeling as if his skin were being flayed from his body._

"_Dean!" he cried out, his heart pounding as a white, blinding light engulfed his body._

"_There is a great deal of damage here, Sam," Castiel murmured, his voice somehow sounding above the sounds of Sam's struggling. "I am sorry I cannot spare you the pain." His eyes narrowed as he let his energy flow through the young Winchester, healing the damage that had been done._

_It took several long moments before Sam finally laid still, the light slowly fading from his body. Castiel sighed, releasing Sam's wrist and bring his fingertips to his forehead, closing his eyes. Carefully, he forced Sam's body from the floor, looking out into the room through Sam's eyes.__He could see the two men kneeling near the door. He saw Dean nursing his new wounds and frowned deeply, reaching down to heal the seared skin._

"Sammy?" Dean whispered in awe, looking up at his brother. "Are you…are you…what's goin' on?"

"_I…did not mean to make you worry, Dean_," Castiel offered, speaking through Sam. "_It…is over now. You should both rest. We have work to do_."

"Cas?" Dean managed.

Instead of answering, he slowly released his hold on Sam, only catching a glance of Dean and Bobby looking away from the light before he disappeared.

**~8675309~**

Sam stretched fitfully, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. It was dark outside now, no light besides the moonlight filtering into the room. He reached to the bedside table, flicking on the lamp, letting the dim light into the room. It brought the now-dried blood on the sheets into view and he raised his hand to his mouth with the memory.

"Sammy?" he heard the groggy question sound from the chair at the foot of the bed.

"Dean." He made his way to the chair, kneeling down beside his brother. "You look like hell, man."

Dean smirked, looking down at his little brother. "Yeah, well…it was hard earned." He placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, sitting forward. "You wanna tell me what the hell happened?"

Sam ran his hand through his hair, his brow furrowed as he looked up into Dean's exhausted eyes. "It's weird…like a really trippy dream…except I could feel everything. Cas was there…for my last breaths. It was close."

"Cas? He showed up?"

"In the dream, yeah. He said it wasn't safe here…said he was sorry." Carefully, he relayed what he remembered of Cas' message. They weren't expendable.

"He musta used you to reach out and touch me." Dean held up his arms. "I tried to grab you when…the glowin' started. Damn near ruined me. Then you were there and I was healed…and Cas was talkin'…through you."

"I was…I was out for that," Sam offered, a slightly concerned look crossing his face. He wasn't sure how that had even been possible. "Look, Dean…it wasn't your fault…"

"Dude," Dean interjected, a little more gently than usual, "no chick flick moments." He stood, Sam standing beside him. "I get it. I know what happened was…stupid chance. We couldn't've known one was so close to the damned bag when I threw it down." He offered a small half-smile, that quickly faded and was replaced by a look of deep sorrow. "I'm sorry, Sammy," he choked.

Sam pulled his brother into a tight hug, wrapping his fists tightly in the fabric of Dean's shirt, hoping he understood that he didn't blame him.

It was a long moment before they stepped apart, Dean taking lead as they made their way down the stairs, moving to the kitchen for a beer. They sat down at the table, clinking their long necks together as Bobby joined them, clapping Sam on the shoulder. The single gesture seemed to convey all he needed it to. Sam nodded gratefully, waiting for Bobby to join them before taking an appreciative drink of the amber liquid.

"Good to see you up and about, boy," Bobby said quietly, retrieving them each another beer. "Mind tellin' us what the hell that last bit was all about there?" He leaned back in his chair as they started in on their second drink.

Sam leaned forward, staring at the bottle for a long moment before he looked up at the two men. He told them what he knew, which wasn't a lot, mainly recounting what Cas had said to him before he'd began healing him. "He said…to rest. He has work for us to do."

"Wonder what that is," Bobby grumbled, taking another swig.

Dean shrugged, finishing off his second bottle before responding. "Guess we'll find out soon enough."

_Fin!_

**A/N: Love it or hate it, it's done. Kinda left it open for a sequel or a follow up or whatever. Many special thanks for the adds and reviews. Ya'll got me to finish up a few days before schedule. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think.**

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